


as-yet-untitled tennis star Mike fic

by thatotherperv



Series: tennis star Mike [2]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Depression, Dom/sub, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, tough guys who are squishy and caretaking on the sly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is not a lawyer, but when Grammy's death sends him off the rails, Harvey is still there to bully him back on track.  With love.  And his dick and stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the hey-I-should-probably-post-this note:  
> so, obviously I've been in a writing slump (heh, understatement) and I'm still picking at Owned (really really). but I've been playing with *this* since maybe a month after I posted the original tennis-Mike ficlet on tumblr - now on ao3 as part 1 of this "series" - and I've recently started working on it again. I've been itching to share it, honestly. some warnings / caveats though - much like Owned, I don't know where this fic is ultimately going, and combined with my slumpiness, it's entirely possible I'll never finish this sucker. I am hoping that getting it out in the light will increase the chances. so, you know, fair warning - hopefully you'll enjoy the ride anyway. 
> 
> the original thing was only 700 words, you would benefit from reading that first, if only to understand that Harvey's already stupidly smitten.
> 
> thank you, as always, to mskatej for the beta and encouragement
> 
> the original content notes I wrote a year ago:  
> so I don't remember why, out of all the prompt fills at my tumblr, I started expanding the tennis-Mike thing, and I really don't remember why it suddenly turned into gratuitous grief/depression fic with magic dominant cock. but once that happened, I proceeded based on a few interrelated ideas:  
> 1\. Canonically, Mike responded to his grandmother's death with mildly self-destructive behavior, a desire to block out the pain with sex, and a willingness to bury himself in work.  
> 2\. In a world where Mike's job was less intellectually stimulating, the self-destructiveness and need for sex would've been (imo) more exaggerated.  
> 3\. If Mike directed all that self-destructiveness and need for sex at Harvey, Harvey wouldn't have let him self destruct, but he also wouldn't swoop to the rescue in any kind of obvious way.  
> 4\. In a world where Harvey has interest and experience in BDSM, he would find Mike's self-destructiveness and vulnerability tempting even though he's too ethical to take advantage (much).
> 
> That's pretty much the recipe I'm cooking with, in this fic. Mike's state of mind in this fic is heavily influenced by my own experiences with depression, so if you are sensitive to that, please beware - there's very little happiness in whoville and I'm not sure when/if there will be. 
> 
> I was being flippant about Mike being healed by the power of magic dominant cock just now, but also not - I don't know that I'd recommend this is how you help someone cope with grief? while we're at it, the power exchange in this fic is un/under-negotiated - consensual, by the reckoning of both parties, but in a few spots, I can see the lack of negotiation being risky and potentially problematic. this is not intended to be a model relationship by any means.
> 
> now that I've written half a novel in the notes section again....

Mike knows it's not normal to visit his lawyer 2-3 times a week just for kicks. It costs him a thousand bucks an hour for the privilege, but that hardly matters these days. Once Mike started earning enough to set Grammy up in style, his ambition to earn more money stopped. His income's tripled since then, and even after the address upgrade to Manhattan - Harvey's orders - he still has plenty to burn and his needs are few. Hell, these days, people give him clothes and shit for free. Harvey set him up with a money guy he can trust, and he basically doesn't think about it beyond that.

It's refreshing, considering where Mike's finances stood five years ago, but the result is that Mike can burn a couple thousand a month on unnecessary legal fees without consequence.

Mike's not a lawsuit magnet and his legal matters are simple - simple enough that he could probably handle things himself if he were inclined. Having Harvey in his corner's about more than that, though. Yeah, he set up Grammy's trust and sorted Mike's taxes and went after sponsorships more aggressively (and successfully) than Mike's manager ever has. He's also kept Mike _sane_ through the radical lifestyle shift that winning the US Open tossed Mike into. He's the reason Mike's not still in Brooklyn with piles of money stuffed under his mattress, drowning in the media frenzy and beating reporters back from Grammy with a stick.

It's probably pathetic and Harvey would mock him for it, but this man whose company costs him $100 every six minutes is the closest thing Mike has to a friend these days. The _only_ thing, really, since Harvey had to run Trevor off for attempted blackmail.

Which explains why Mike is standing in his _lawyer's_ office, eyes puffy, hands shaking, trying to explain how his whole world just ended.

He's a mess. He knows that he looks pathetic because Harvey hasn't even commented on his showing up in ratty sweats and a t-shirt with a hole at the collar. He shoots straight to his feet when he catches sight of Mike, rounding his desk with a look of un-Harvey-like concern. 

"What happened?" he demands. His hand lands on Mike's shoulder and the numbness breaks, a sob bursting forth from Mike's chest. He starts to cry, loud and ugly, barely cognizant of Harvey talking to Donna as he's guided to the couch. "Breathe. Breathe, Mike, it's gonna be okay."

Mike shakes his head, because the pain's too big to bear. "She's dead," he says, and once he starts, he can't stop. No euphemisms. After his parents, she used to say that the words were important, ugly as they were. "She's dead, she's dead, she's dead."

He finds himself curling into Harvey's shoulder and Harvey lets him, lets him bury his face there and cry jaggedly, unable to catch his breath from the violence of the pain. "Okay," Harvey says. "Okay, okay, okay. _Donna, clear the hallway, dammit_."

He cries until his throat's hoarse, until his mouth is filled with cotton and his eyes burn and the muscles of his stomach are aching with overexertion. He hurts all over when it finally stops, and Harvey's still there, stroking his hand through Mike's hair and holding him upright.

"Donna brought some water," Harvey finally says, "why don't you have some." It isn't a question, so Mike turns his head and cracks open his sore eyes, letting Harvey tip the glass against his mouth. He's too tired to hold his head up for long, but Harvey's persistent. He makes Mike turn again and again until he's had the whole glass.

Mike's mind is blank. Not in the way it gets when he plays tennis, blissful and freeing - this feels like a sucking hole that could consume him.

Oddly, the first thoughts that come back are for Harvey - how much time he's probably wasted and how he showed up here looking like shit. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Harvey asks, sounding bewildered. It vibrates under Mike's cheek. Before Mike can explain, Harvey says, "Never mind, it's not important. You have nothing to apologize for right now."

The warmth Mike feels from that is distant. He thinks he's going into shock. "I think I'm in shock."

Harvey huffs a breath. "I wouldn't be surprised. Listen, I had Donna call for Ray. I don't know how you got here, but he's going to take you home."

Mike shudders. "I h-have to call her friends. Find a funeral home. I have to - "

"Mike," Harvey interrupts gently. "I have her advanced directive. I'll take care of it."

"Her...." For the first time since Marguerite called in tears, Mike feels himself snapping out of his daze. "She - what do you mean her advanced directive? She didn't have one."

Harvey's face is so kind it hurts to look at it. He's never this nice. It's too real - he's being this nice because _Grammy's dead_. "Mike, she knew this day was coming. She wanted to make it easier for you."

"No. She was _fine_ , what are you - "

"She was doing well. But she wanted to have everything prepared. She knew this would be hard, and she didn't want you to have to - "

"You didn't tell me." Mike pushes away from Harvey. "You knew, and you didn't tell me."

"She didn't want you to know."

" _Fuck you_ , you should have told me. She was _getting ready to die_? You didn't have the right!"

Harvey stands and wipes his hand over his mouth. He stares Mike down. " _Stop_. You know better - you know that's not how it works." Mike feels like he can't get enough air. Harvey pulls him to his feet and cups the back of his neck. "I'm gonna take you downstairs, and Ray's going to drive you home. I'll take care of Edith for you, just like she asked me to. I want you to eat something, drink another glass of water, and go to bed. Can you do that?"

Mike looks at Harvey blankly. Harvey's eyes are weird and glassy. Mike can't think.

Harvey shakes him by the scruff. "Mike, what are you going to do when you get home."

"Eat, drink and sleep."

"Good boy." Harvey's face pinches up strangely, and his voice comes out soft. "I'm sorry, Mike. I'm truly sorry."

Mike's eyeballs burn until he digs his fingers in. Harvey and Gram got on like a house on fire. "Yeah. Me too."

"C'mon, Ray's here."

Harvey walks Mike out through the firm by the grip on his neck, guiding him so he doesn't have to look further than his shoes. Mike's aware that people are staring and vaguely recalls Harvey saying something about clearing the halls - they saw him crying. He thinks he'd be embarrassed if he had room to care. They step into an elevator car alone and Harvey's fingers work at the muscles of Mike's neck - stiff from his crying jag - all the way to the lobby. 

He guides Mike out onto the street and suddenly there are flash bulbs. Mike looks up, disoriented, and Harvey pushes his head back down, swearing viciously as Ray pushes through the crowd to meet them. They throw a jacket over Mike's head and help him duck into the town car. 

Harvey's face is livid as he buckles Mike in and shuts the door.

*

It's dark out by the time Mike's dragged out of sleep by the pounding on his door. He lets it go on for a while before he can marshal the energy to get out of bed. His eyeballs are sore and don't want to be open.

Mike lets Harvey in and retreats to the couch.

"I brought food," Harvey says. Mike thinks it might be the first time he's ever seen the man uncomfortable about anything, but he still manages to help himself to Mike's kitchen like he owns the place. The number of containers he lays out on the coffee table are exhausting to look at.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Did you eat when you got home?"

Mike nods. 

Harvey hands him a fresh glass of water and a pair of chopsticks that he's cracked apart. He stands there, looking at Mike expectantly. "That was twelve hours ago. You need to eat again."

His eyes don't even want to focus. He stares at all the food blankly. 

Harvey picks one and opens the top, holding it out. "Ten minutes. Eat for ten minutes and I'll let you go back to bed."

It's not worth the energy to argue - Harvey will only dig his heels in until Mike agrees. He takes the box and starts to pick his way through the mu shu inside. Each swallow feels sticky and the food doesn't want to go down. He chews more than usual. It makes him tired. Harvey settles down next to him on the couch.

"The service is scheduled for the day after tomorrow," he says. Mike can feel him watching, but he doesn't have anything to say to that. "Listen. I don't want you to leave the building until I come and get you. I upped security in the lobby but there are reporters outside. I don't want you to worry about it, but I don't want you to turn on the tv."

Mike looks at him for the first time, confused. "What - why do they care about my grandmother?" Mike knows he's famous...ish, but he’s not really. He plays _tennis_ , for God's sake. He's not big enough to rate a family member's death getting anyone's attention.

Harvey spreads his hands. "Slow news cycle. The coverage is sympathetic and it's under control - I just don't want you to think about it right now."

"Yeah, okay." Like he cares. He zones out for a minute, staring down at the bottom of the takeaway box. 

He takes a breath and sets it aside, Harvey eyeing him like he's thinking about forcing it. Instead he pushes the water glass back into Mike's hand. 

"I hadn't seen her in two weeks," Mike says. He stares at the water. "I wasn't even busy. I don't even know why. What was so important?"

Harvey doesn't answer, though what he'd say is beyond Mike. He just tips the bottom of the cup towards Mike's face til Mike gets the hint. He watches while Mike drinks it. 

Mike puts the glass aside and rubs at his eyes. "You gonna let me go back to bed now?"

"Go ahead," Harvey says. He's still looking at him, and Mike wants him to stop. "There'll be leftovers in the fridge when you wake up. I called Jerry and had him cancel everything in your schedule til Thursday. After that, you can decide how you feel."

Mike nods, because Harvey's waiting for him to. He goes back to bed, but not to sleep - just lays there and listens to someone else moving around in his kitchen. Listens to Harvey washing his dishes. Bizarre. Fifteen minutes pass before the front door opens and closes, and he hears the sound of keys turning in the locks. 

When the silence finally settles in, he lets his eyes close. He's not sure when he falls asleep.

*

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes three minutes to remember that Grammy's gone. The light filters in through his eyelids and his muscles hurt, but not like he's been training. There's something looming for a moment, something big but he's sure it's not a match, not a tournament, not an interview, it's something that's making him feel sick and that can't be work, he likes to work - 

He remembers Marguerite, his grandmother's home nurse, how thick her voice was with tears when she said, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Mike, she's gone."

It hurts like water hitting his lungs - it makes him gasp but the pain only gets worse and he buries his face in the bedding, like he can shut it out. Like he can shut out the way she looked - cold and pale and dead when he got there before the coroner's van. He lives so close, only a couple blocks. He could get there so quickly when he bothered to try....

Mike only manages a single sob before he's fumbling for the bedside drawer. For his tin. He doesn't smoke very often these days - never when he's training. His days of wake and bake are long gone but it's still there out of habit, and stocked. 

He doesn't want to think about her face, her dead face, or the annoyed teasing of her last voicemail, or the way he didn't even call her back, much less go to see her. 

He doesn't want to think. 

*

This time, the pounding on the door's accompanied by Harvey's voice, calling out his name and ordering him to wake up. It's relentless and annoying and Mike wants it to stop. He pulls the covers over his head and a few minutes later there are keys in the lock and a slamming door. 

He can hear Harvey out in the living room, talking about being late, the Dopplar effect of his voice as he looks in the kitchen and bathroom. Mike doesn't bother to call out, and Harvey finds him eventually. It makes him fall silent. He crosses to the side of the bed and from under the comforter, Mike can feel Harvey looking at the lump of his body. He curls up tighter and imagines Harvey counting up the roaches in the otherwise empty tin. Mike's only gotten up to take a piss since he left.

"Mike, you have to get up and shower. We're gonna be late for her service."

"I don't want to go." Sometime last night, he remembered the last of her card partners died three months back. He doesn't even think there's anyone else left to speak for her - no one that matters to speak to. The service will be all agents and managers and ass-kissers wanting something from her grandson. She deserves better.

"You'll regret it if you don't." Harvey throws back the covers and exposes Mike in his filthy t-shirt and boxers. Harvey's impeccable of course. "C'mon. Five minutes. Go wash up, I'll pick out a suit." 

Mike showers mechanically, and stares at the suit Harvey chose when he emerges. There's not a single item of black. The camel-colored three-piece suit is one that Gram picked a few months ago. The shirt and tie he laid out are blue. Mike's eyes fill up and he rubs the moisture away. He gets dressed.

Harvey standing in the kitchen, looking in the fridge. "Have you eaten since I was here?"

"Let's go, you said we were running late."

"They'll wait for us," Harvey says, and points to one of the bar stools in the kitchen. "Sit."

Mike plows through the cold carton of leftovers Harvey hands him. 

He doesn't bother acknowledging when Harvey says, "The battery on your phone was dead. It's charging now."

When he's done, Harvey tosses the carton in the trash and, after a sound of disgust when he catches a whiff, gathers up the bag, knots it off and takes it with them. Mike would normally make a joke about Harvey taking out his trash - if that were a thing that ever happened normally - but Harvey's eyes are disapproving, and nothing's funny anyway.

*

Ray's parked in the alley behind his building, so they go out the back way and Harvey tosses the garbage as he goes around to the other side. Mike doesn't know where exactly they're going but it doesn't matter. Nobody speaks on the way there. The radio's on, but it's a talk station, too soft to make out. He suspects Ray turned it on so the car wouldn't be dead silent.

There's a small cluster of reporters outside the cemetery gate, and a security guard has to let them through. It's the same place Mike's parents and grandfather are buried, and he didn't think they had security. It doesn't matter, though.

When they pull to a stop, Mike's surprised by the turnout - there are only two people at the gravesite. Donna and Marguerite.

He stares until his eyes start to burn. Harvey doesn't get out. "She said you wouldn't want strangers here. Is this okay?"

More than okay. So much more okay than a crowd of people who mean nothing. Mike nods, and Harvey squeezes his shoulder. 

"Okay. C'mon, it's time."

*

There's no church, no prayer, no comforting clichés, no awkward reception. Harvey officiates because Gram told him to - she didn't want a "damn pastor, and who better than my grandson's soulless lawyer to get through it with dry eyes?" 

Her last official words are funnier in Harvey's mouth than they have a right to be, and after he's done reading, he tells the story of the first time he met her, which makes them all laugh. His eyes stay on Mike's as he talks about all the times she called his office, asking about this or that, making sure he was taking care of her grandson.

After that, Donna tells a story, then Margo tells a few. She'd been more than a nurse these last few months, she'd been Gram's best friend, and Mike is so grateful. They're all laughing with tears in their eyes - though not Harvey, Harvey's as dry-eyed as Grammy expected. 

Mike is feeling okay - she was loved; even when there weren't so many people left, Mike was able to give her a few who loved her at the end of her life, loved her for all the reasons he loved her. People who understood who she _was_.

And then they all turn and look at him, and the good feeling dissolves. They're waiting for his words, for the closest person she had in the world to say something and a silly story just isn't enough. It isn't enough, nothing is enough to explain how much she loved him, how much he loved her, how important she was and how he's not sure he can do without her.

His chest gets tight and his throat closes up and he shakes his head. "I can't. I can't. I - "

Harvey's hand comes to rest on his neck and he squeezes, like it's okay for Mike to not try. 

Mike closes his eyes and lowers his head and doesn't speak, doesn't watch as they lower Gram into the ground.

*

They go out to dinner afterwards, just Harvey and Mike. They eat steak, and drink beer (one beer, singular. Harvey cancels his order for more). They talk about dumb things - movies and tv. Celebrity gossip; Harvey's an incongruous hound for the stuff. They give Gram and work a wide berth, and for an hour, Mike almost forgets.

As Ray drives them home, though, the spell breaks.

Harvey walks him into his building and up to his front door, and it's oddly like a date and Mike wants to forget again, wants to keep forgetting. He pushes Harvey against the wall beside his front door and kisses him.

Harvey kisses back. He kisses back like he's wanted to for a long time, and Mike feels his spine melt. Pleasure starts to take up residence in his chest, pushing the pain out, and it's such a relief, it makes his body shudder.

Mike can tell Harvey's trying to taper things off, but he can't let him, can't stand to let this go, so he pushes in, persistent. Harvey cups Mike's face in both hands and gently pulls him away.

His face is soft and apologetic and kind, and it does something to Mike's insides; he's never seen Harvey look remotely like this. And at least right now, he doesn't want to. "Please don't say what you're going to - I need this. I've wanted this for a long time, I know you know that, but right now...I need this. Harvey. Please."

Harvey's thumbs are sweeping over his cheeks, the corner of his mouth tips up in something like a smile, and he nods. "Okay. Maybe not in the hallway, though?"

Mike laughs in relief, and keeps his fist curled in Harvey's lapel as he unlocks the door; Harvey doesn't object or pull away. He just waits until they're through the door and then presses Mike to the wall, mirror image from outside. 

He presses Mike against it with his whole body, nosing in for a kiss that gets rough so quickly, as demanding now as he was sweet in the hall. Mike presses forward, eager, and Harvey slides his hands back to take a tight grip on Mike's ass, lifting him up a little and grinding them together.

Mike's moan is almost all breath, and he pants as Harvey breaks away from the kiss, sucking a bit under Mike's jaw. Mike's hands are bunched in the back of Harvey's jacket. "Oh God, please. Harvey, please."

He's not thinking about what he's saying - if he's thinking at all, it's really _good_ and _more_ and _yes, finally_. The insistent way Harvey's shoving their hips together makes anything deeper impossible - Mike's wanted this so bad, for so long. He didn't think he'd get it.

"I like it when you ask so nicely," Harvey says, and it shudders down Mike's spine. They're pressed cheek to cheek, Harvey's voice vibrating right against his ear. "Go take off your suit - hang it up - and wait for me naked in your bed."

With one last squeeze of his hands, Harvey lets him go and steps away, pulling his phone out of his pocket and hitting speed dial one while giving Mike the eyebrow. As Mike heads towards the bedroom, he hears, "Ray, we're done for the night. I'll need you to pick me up here in the morning - make it ten and stop by my place first to get a suit," unashamed and matter-of-fact. Being a private driver must be weird.

As Mike hangs up his suit, he eavesdrops on two more calls - one to Harvey's building concierge asking him to have a suit waiting for Ray in the morning, one to Donna announcing a bullshit morning meeting that will make Harvey late. There's a pause and then Harvey laughs before he says, full of exaggerated patience, "Good night, Donna."

He's _just_ gotten into bed when Harvey rounds the corner and pauses in the French doors, looking.

"So do all your employees know every time you get laid?"

Harvey smiles a little, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "They don't know I'm getting laid. They know how my evening plans affect their job, nothing more." He looks smug and unrepentant. He misses Mike's eyeroll because he's looking several feet south. "Spread your legs for me," he says in the exact same tone of voice. "Pull up your knees so I can see your hole."

Mike's dick twitches and he does as asked. His face feels warm - this is. Different, for him. Nothing less than what he expected from Harvey, but definitely new. So hot his balls ache, especially when Harvey bites his lip and _stares_.

Mike's known that he's bi for a long time. Labeling himself as such is a pain in the ass, so he doesn't, but he's been with guys. Sucked and been sucked, topped and bottomed, for the most part...egalitarian. He's always liked it that way. Hell, with women, too. He's never been interested in power games.

And then he met Harvey. There was never any question in his mind how this would go. He never imagined for a second that Harvey wouldn't take control here too, and to be honest, the idea has always gotten him off.

Harvey's eyes are crawling over his asshole, his taint, his balls and cock, as he drops his jacket on the floor. He flicks open his cuffs as he walks towards the bed, rolling them up his forearms, and that's the extent to which he undresses. He crawls up the bed, between Mike's legs, with his vest and his tie tucked inside and his collar buttoned all the way to the top, and oh god, the number of fantasies Mike's had about messing up one of these three-piece suits. Harvey rubs his body against Mike's, rubs his $2000 slacks all over Mike's dick and smiles when Mike whispers, "Fuck."

Harvey takes Mike's hands from where they've clutched at Harvey's waist and threads their fingers together, pinning them above Mike's head. Then he kisses him, different yet again, slow and dirty. Mike wraps his legs around Harvey for leverage and feels his body jerk at the shape of the hard-on in those pants. They writhe against each other while Harvey's tongue-fucks his mouth.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ ," is all Mike can manage to say when Harvey lets his mouth go. Harvey stares down at Mike, hips still grinding out a rhythm. All his thoughts are on his face. As often as Mike fantasized about this, he'd always been a little afraid Harvey would remain as fathomless in bed as he can be everywhere else. He's glad he was wrong. There's open affection and lust on Harvey's face. He can't look away.

"Is that what you want, Mike? A fuck?" He punctuates the question with his hips, and Mike's breath catches. "You want my cock?"

Mike groans. He should've known Harvey'd be a dirty talker. And still in a waistcoat and tie, it's just.... "Yes."

"I'll tell you what - I'm gonna give you a choice. My cock, or my mouth."

"Oh god." Mike lets his head fall back, honestly torn. "Can I have whatever I don't pick now later?"

Harvey smirks. "Maybe. No promises."

Well, that settles it pretty neatly then - he doubts Harvey will refrain from fucking him, so Mike's gonna get blown while the getting's good. "Your mouth." Harvey untangles their hands and Mike reaches out to touch his lips, a little disbelieving. Harvey kisses his thumb.

"As you wish," Harvey says. 

He takes his sweet time getting to Mike's dick. He sinks his teeth into Mike all over, again and again, nips him even more frequently and licks it better. When he _really_ bites, he bares down hard enough for a deep ache, a throbbing pain that'll bruise tomorrow, and Mike arches into it every time, swearing and gasping and rubbing Harvey against his cock til he's too far down Mike's body and pins Mike's hips down with his hands.

He nips Mike's belly, buries his nose in the crease of Mike's thigh, pulls one of Mike's legs over his shoulder and turns his head to get a good chunk of Mike's hamstrings between his teeth. Mike's begging again when Harvey's mouth edges close to his cock. Finally, leaning in.

Harvey licks a delicate line along his belly, parallel to his shaft, less than an inch away. Mike swears explosively and tries to mash Harvey's face closer. Harvey calmly removes Mike's hand from his head and places it on his free shoulder instead, then he licks Mike on the other side, just as close. 

The ghost of Harvey's breath is so close as Harvey backs further down and sucks one of Mike's balls into his mouth, cradling it there and manipulating it against his tongue. Mike sobs out a breath and reaches for his dick; Harvey's there again to intercept and return the hand to its grip on him. 

Harvey's a tease - something Mike probably should've guessed. He strings Mike along until his frustration peaks, the sharp edge of desperation ebbs away, leaving behind this full-body pleasure that lights him up.

Harvey hums and lets Mike's testicle fall from his mouth, rolling Mike's thighs back towards his chest. Mike's grabbing the bend of his own knees before Harvey even gives an order. 

Mike didn't exactly have this in mind when he showered - he's not sure how clean he is, but Harvey doesn't care. He licks Mike's ass with so much enthusiasm it makes him breathless. Totally helpless to hold in the shocked sounds he's making. His hips are pulsing, reflexive and desperate, thrusting against Harvey's face, and Harvey doesn't even try to hold him still, just rides it out and follows the movement. 

Mike's so caught up in his own body, he's late in registering Harvey's moaning, Harvey pulling out his cock, Harvey jacking himself through his fly, but when he finally notices, he almost loses it right there - Harvey loves eating Mike's ass so much, he's literally getting off on it.

Mike's stomach is a mess of precome and he's never been so ready to get off in his life. "Jesus, please, Harvey, I need to come." His toes curl and his fingers dig into his own thighs. "I just need - however you want, Jesus, please."

Harvey says something that he doesn't catch, then he's shifting his weight and licking wide and sloppy up Mike's cock. It makes him shout. And then he can't stop because Harvey's sucking him, Harvey's sucking his dick and Jesus Christ, he can't take much of that before he shoots off, body wracked with pleasure as Harvey sucks him dry.

Mike starts laughing at the angry stomp on the ceiling ordering him to shut up, and Harvey looms above him, grinning. 

"My place has better soundproofing."

"I bet." Mike's eyes fall to Harvey's cock and all thoughts of banter leave his head. He licks his lip. "You can - " He looks back up at Harvey, whose face is oddly neutral. "You can use my mouth, if you want. Just like this."

The impassive mask falls away and beneath it, Harvey's greedy. Hungry. He moves up the bed without further discussion, kneeling over Mike's shoulders and wrapping Mike's arms around his thighs. "Tap if you need me to stop."

Mike nods, and then Harvey's eyes are falling to his mouth. He sucks on his own bottom lip as he guides his cock to Mike's. When Mike tries to open, Harvey shakes his head. 

"Closed for now, please."

"Yes, sir," Mike says - testing it out. He's said it a thousand times in jest, and it still comes out...wrong in this context, almost mocking. Harvey's face darkens; he shakes his head. 

"Don't do that. Not today."

Mike nods, and digs his fingers into Harvey's legs, securing his grip without anything that could remotely be interpreted as a tap. Harvey's staring down at his face, intense, sliding the head of his cock along Mike's lips, and Mike thinks if he could, he'd be hard again from this. He feels hemmed in, pinned down by Harvey's legs, in those dark slacks. Harvey, whose only concession to eating Mike out was apparently to pop his collar button and loosen his tie a bit. He looks like he does on any given day at the office when he settles in for real work, except his face is slack with hunger and his cock is nudging insistently at Mike's mouth.

"You've been so very good for me," he says, and the compliment sounds filthy. It washes through Mike's body and makes him feel on point. Slack and on edge at the same time, euphoric. "And now you offer this. Have you thought about this, Mike?"

"Yes." Harvey inhales through his nose as Mike's lips move against the sweet spot under the head of his dick. Mike's thought about this a lot, truth be told. 

"Ever sucked a dick like this before?"

"No," he says - and this time lets his tongue slip out, just a touch on Harvey's skin, too brief to call a tease. 

Harvey grabs the short strands of Mike's hair between his knuckles and holds Mike still, demanding his attention. "Okay. You have to tap me if it's too much. Say you will."

"I'll tap your leg if it's too much," Mike repeats, Harvey's cock still resting on his lips - and apparently that's where Harvey's patience breaks.

"Open," he breathes and feeds his cock down into Mike's mouth. Mike has to close his eyes for a second, moaning around it; Harvey jerks forward and hits the back of his throat, making him cough. He pulls back immediately, nostrils flaring like a bull. "I didn't mean to do that. I'll warn you when I do."

He doesn't thrust deep again. He keeps Mike's head pinned still and fucks his lips slow and shallow. Mike covers his teeth and brings his tongue up to cradle the underside, careful with the suction - there's nowhere for all the spit to go but down his throat. 

"God, that's so good. Open your eyes, Mike." Harvey's staring down like watching Mike take his dick is the best thing he's ever seen. "I want you to watch me use your face. Fuck, you like that, don't you? You're so good."

It's strangely...peaceful. Lying here and taking it. He just has to suck and keep his teeth clear and his eyes open while Harvey...uses his face. Yes, that's how it feels, and it feels _good_ , safe and easy and simple. Harvey was near-silent while he got Mike off, but now he's effusive, and it makes Mike feel high. Even when Harvey starts riding him faster, thrusting deeper and it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe, Mike feels hypnotizes and utterly sure that Harvey's got him.

He wonders, briefly, if this detachment is partly his grief, but his mind immediately shies away, shutting out any thoughts that aren't about this moment. It's easy to focus on the now as Harvey starts to come and Mike has to swallow, swallow and keep swallowing til Harvey's done and he pulls his dick away.

Harvey slides back down his body and leans down to kiss him. His hand strokes over Mike's head, soothing the hair follicles he strained with force before. It turns the ache to pleasure, makes Mike sleepy. "You did so well. You're a good boy," Harvey says, and Mike feels that to his toes.

He's staring down at Mike with dark eyes - soft, dark eyes - like this is important, and Mike tries to smile but it feels bad. Like a lie. He knows he's not a good boy, not really, and it hurts to think about it. He looks away, and Harvey presses his lips to Mike's forehead. Mike's eyes blink closed for a second and Harvey's climbing back into the bed and he's naked. He turns Mike on his side and fits their bodies together. 

"She's really gone, isn't she?" Mike says, and Harvey's arm tightens around his waist. He kisses Mike's shoulder.

"It's gonna be alright, kiddo. Get some sleep."

Harvey's voice sounds tight and Mike's not sure it can be ok, ever again. He sleeps anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to mskatej for looking things over!

Mike wakes up to thin light filtering through the blinds, and Harvey in his bed.

They shifted sometime during the night - Harvey on his back, Mike half sprawled over top him, face mashed into Harvey's neck. He's not sure what time they went to sleep, but it must have been early; he hasn't woken up at sunrise in a long time.

He dreamt about Gram all night long - over and over again, dreams of playing cards with her, being teased by her, getting advice, and then the dream would freeze and he'd remember she was dead. 

Maybe all that taught him his lesson, because he doesn't need a reminder when he wakes up this morning. He knows. As soon as he's conscious, he knows.

Mike buries his face in Harvey's shoulder and breathes in the smell of dried sweat. The sheets smell like sex; Mike needs more. He slips his hand under the sheets and fondles Harvey's cock.

It's hard enough to stroke when Harvey stirs and takes a deep breath, turning his face into Mike's hair. "Hello."

"Hello," Mike says, impatience crawling under his skin. "I want you to fuck me."

Harvey reaches across his own body to tilt Mike's face up; he looks amused, but his eyes are heavy with arousal. "'Good morning, Mike.' Your turn."

"Good morning, Harvey," he recites. 

Harvey's face breaks into a smile, a little too smug to be genuine. "Now, was there something you wanted?"

"Your dick in my ass."

"Ah." Harvey studies him for a minute, thumb sliding into the subtle notch on Mike's chin. Still smiling, but there's something serious and considering underneath. "Well. Happy to oblige. Get the lube and climb up here." He pats his chest. "I want to watch you finger yourself open for me."

Mike's chest surges with excitement as he fetches the lube and gets in position, straddling Harvey backwards. Before he can even touch himself, Harvey's using both hands to spread his ass wide open. It feels obscene, and Mike's so excited he can hardly breathe. 

He pushes two slick fingers into himself hastily, and Harvey sighs out a little noise. "Impatient?"

"Yes."

His fingers curl into Mike's flesh, hard enough to bruise. "Don't be. You're not sitting on my cock until I say. Slow down and give me a show."

The order makes his dick throb, and he starts to rut against Harvey's stomach while he fingers his hole, watching Harvey's face over his shoulder. Harvey's eyes remain fixed on Mike's asshole as he spreads it open. His eyes are dark, and he looks so intense it makes Mike want to beg.

Instead, he bends forward and starts nuzzling Harvey's cock through the sheet.

Harvey sucks in a breath but doesn't stop him. Mike spends the next few minutes mouthing him hard and frotting against his chest, thrusting his fingers in and out of his own ass. Harvey's thick - two isn't enough but he won’t add a third. He wants it to burn. He wants to feel it when he sinks down on Harvey's cock.

"Okay," Harvey finally says. His voice is thick with lust, and Mike doesn't wait for him to elaborate - he pulls his fingers out of his ass, turns himself around and impales himself on Harvey's dick, too fast.

He throws his head back and breathes, filled up with the sensation. Harvey touches him - his thighs, his torso, flat-palmed and proprietary. 

When Mike finally opens his eyes, Harvey's watching him opaquely. There's something about it that makes his spine shudder. 

"No condom," Harvey says. It's not a question, not even a criticism, so Mike doesn't bother to answer. He rotates his hips, teasing himself with the feeling of Harvey's cock stretching him open. "You like it to hurt?" 

"Yeah." Just a little. Just sometimes. Right now, it's working for him hard.

"I like that you like that." Harvey wraps his hand around Mike's softened cock and strokes it, coaxing him back to an erection. His hips flex against Mike's ass, shoving himself flush. "Why do you like it?"

Something pushes its way up Mike's throat - some words or emotion that he can't face. He swallows them back down. Harvey's looking him in the eye now. "I just do."

Harvey holds his eyes for a beat, then nods. "Then quit fucking around and ride me."

There are half a dozen things on Mike's tongue, but all of them amount to _YES_ , so instead of forcing them out, he lifts himself up - slow, feeling it - and drops his weight back down. The friction between their bodies makes him moan, and this is why he likes being stingy with the lube. It's perfect, and the slow pace he sets is about feeling every inch, every second of that burn. Harvey braces his hands on Mike's hips, but not to direct him.

"Tell me."

"It feels good."

"What does?"

"Your cock in my ass. God, I thought about this."

"What did you think about?"

Mike can't help but laugh, even if it comes out shaky and breathless. "You, being a demanding bastard while I ride you."

Harvey's mouth curves. "Do you think I'm being demanding, Mike?"

Everything in his expression and his tone is an amused warning: Mike hasn't seen demanding yet. As warnings go, it's not effective; Mike's not scared of more. He's not scared of anything.

He says as much, and Harvey hooks a hand around his neck, forcing Mike's face closer to his - Mike has to catch himself with his hands to keep from falling. Harvey doesn't look mad at the taunt, just fired up. Still, holding himself back. 

Harvey's hand slides from the nape of Mike's neck to his throat. He's not choking, not even threatening to, but the suggestion of the gesture makes Mike's breath catch and go ragged. He rides Harvey faster, and Harvey sweeps his thumb gently along the line of his jugular. 

"You want me to, Mike? You want me to hurt you?"

Oh God, yes, he does, and that scares some distant, muffled part of his mind. Right now, he wants it so bad he can _taste_ it, and he nods.

Harvey's nostrils flare but he doesn't squeeze down, doesn't change what he's doing at all. "Good," he says - quiet, satisfied, like he's answering something else. "That's a good boy. Now reach down and jack yourself off." 

As soon as Mike gets his hand on his cock, he knows it's not going to take him long. He stares down at Harvey and replays the way he sounded when he said 'you want me to hurt you?' Like it's nothing to him either way, like Mike is asking him for legal work, or a favor. It fills Mike with something too big for his skin, and makes him want to push until Harvey snaps. The idea of that, of Harvey losing it and hurting him, is what makes him come. He shoots his brains out all over Harvey's stomach and Harvey fucks him through it, bracing his feet and powering up into him until he gets off too.

*

Harvey gets them into the shower as soon as their heart rates come down, borrows a pair of Mike's sweats - a half-size too small, they cling to his ass and his cock and make Mike horny enough to grope him as he cooks questionably-aged eggs on Mike's stovetop.

Harvey smiles a little and lets Mike rub his half-hard dick against his ass, elbowing him out of the way when it's finally time to plate their breakfast. 

"You have practice scheduled at noon, if you feel up to it," Harvey says when they're halfway through their food. Mike has an appetite for the first time in days. Sex will do that.

He takes a sip of juice to buy him time. The thought of a tennis court holds zero appeal to him right now, but the thought of being here alone once Harvey leaves is...dismal. "Yeah, okay."

"Good." Harvey slides him a look that is strange. "Listen, I didn't see the point in bringing this up before, but there's a reason you've got the press's attention right now."

Mike frowns. "What, the...because of the Tom Ford thing?"

"No." Harvey looks bizarrely apologetic. "When you came to the office on Tuesday, one of our associates took pictures. He posted them on Facebook. We forced him to delete them as soon as we found out, but it was too late. Obviously, we fired him immediately, but the pictures are out there - after that, mainstream news outlets picked it up as a human interest story. When they reuse the pictures, they're doing it under the guise of discussing the leak, so there's nothing we can do. Mike, I'm sorry."

He hasn't done anything but sleep and go to the funeral and fuck Harvey since he left the law firm's doors. "How much coverage are we talking about, here?"

"It's already dying down. I just don't want you to be surprised when you see it, and there will probably be a few reporters hanging around still. Your manager has a few interview requests for you to consider, but you don't have to do any of them if you don't want to."

It's bizarre - Mike's not sure why anyone would want to interview him about Grammy dying of old age. It's not even a cautionary tale. For a human interest story, it's not very interesting, but he guesses he shouldn’t be surprised - he's learned that people want a piece of him in the weirdest and most inexplicable ways.

"I don't want to."

"I figured. I'll tell him to wave them all off for you."

Mike nods, poking his fork at the rest of his eggs. "Can I see you tonight?"

"As long as it's at my place - I'd rather eat something unlikely to give me food poisoning."

Mike readily agrees; he's never seen where Harvey lives, obviously, though he's wondered about it a lot.   
Also, the idea of leaving his apartment behind is an attractive one right now - he doesn't want to be alone, and he doesn't want to be _here_.

*

Mike's day passes in a fog, once Harvey's gone. Ray comes back to drive him to practice at Harvey's behest; they don't talk. Mike's met Ray a few times, and likes him a lot, but he's grateful for the silence and doesn't bother to break it.

Mike's coach is similarly accommodating. The man's usually a raging hardass, but today he's full of platitudes and encouragement in spite of Mike's utterly pathetic performance on the court. Mike knows he's barely putting in the effort and can't seem to bring himself to care.

His limbs feel too heavy and everything is slightly surreal - Mike sees the ball coming in slo-mo every time, but running to meet it doesn't feel worth the effort. He keeps getting distracted, picturing Grammy cold and stiff in her bed, or making him a sandwich in their old kitchen. He keeps going back over the calls he ignored, and what he was doing in the two weeks leading up to her death that was so important.

Training. Meeting Tom Ford. More training. That match last Saturday. More training. He doesn't...he doesn't even know what the point is, why any of that seemed to matter more than her, and if he could go back....

He can't go back, so it's pointless to even think. He'll never have a chance to make it up to her again. It's not the first time he's blown her off for weeks at a time, but he always had a chance to make it up. She'd even tease him about it every time he apologized. 

_That's what happens when you love your job. And don't give a damn about your grandmother._

Everyone politely ignores the tears when Mike starts crying.

*

Coach cuts him loose early - it's probably awkward when your player can't stop weeping during drills. Mike doesn't want to go home, so he calls Harvey, who sends Ray to drop him at Harvey's building. The concierge is expecting him, and lets him into Harvey's place. Shockingly, not the penthouse. Mike will have to tell Harvey he's disappointed Mike's expectations.

Otherwise, it's everything Mike expected - sleek and modern and uncomfortable. The living area has less of Harvey's personality than his office, which makes a sort of sense, Mike supposes. He probably spends more time at work. 

Mike pokes through the refrigerator and cabinets, snoops through the DVR, checks Harvey's medicine cabinet and shower products. It's a diverting way to spend an afternoon - uncovering Harvey Specter's addiction to anti-aging cream and Duck Dynasty. 

Harvey's bedroom is a little more familiar. It's not exactly homey and lived-in, but it's Harvey, with the walk-in closet of suits and the watch tray on the dresser. The bookshelf full of scifi novels and the drawers full of henleys and sweatsuits. The bed is comfy and smells like him - aftershave and hair gel and Harvey. Mike strips off his clothes and slips between the sheets.

He jacks off thinking about sucking Harvey off, about Harvey smacking his face when he slips and scrapes his dick with his teeth. He imagines Harvey getting angry over Mike helping himself to the bed, soiling the sheets - he imagines what Harvey might do then. He fucks himself with two fingers - no lube - until he comes, and then he rolls over and breathes into Harvey's pillow and sleeps.

*

There's a finger trailing down Mike's spine, over his tailbone and into the crack of his ass, and he's rising up to meet it before he's really even awake. He cracks an eye open and sees Harvey fully clothed on the bed, watching Mike with a tipped smile and heavy eyes, and starts pushing his ass up with purpose. 

"Will you fuck me?"

Harvey's fingers leave off playing with Mike's hole and he rests his hand at Mike's nape. "Have you eaten?"

He makes an impatient sound. "Horny, not hungry." He shrugs the hand away in hopes it will clamp down.

Harvey gets up and leaves the bedroom without looking back. "Come and eat."

*

Harvey grills steak, mouth-watering enough to wake Mike's stomach up. He forgot lunch - not forgot, precisely. Remembered, but didn't want any. Now, with a beer in his hand and Harvey looking on, he manages three-quarters of the steak and half the sides. Harvey seems satisfied.

"Heard you had a rough practice, today," Harvey says after. Casual. Mike feels a swell of anger buoy him awake.

"Exactly when did you start giving a fuck about practice? Aside from the relationship between my performance and your bottom line, I mean."

Harvey stares him down and takes a sip of his own beer, not answering. The answer is 'since you fell apart' or 'since I put my dick in your mouth.' He's too dignified to say either. Mike feels his jaw clench.

"It was fine." Harvey doesn't argue. He just keeps watching intently, and Mike's patience cracks. "I don't see the fucking point, okay? I just don't care right now. Anyone who expects me to can go fuck themselves."

"No one expects you to," Harvey says, so calm and reasonable Mike’s anger glances off and has nowhere to go. Mike pushes up suddenly, chair legs screeching on varnished wood, and pushes out the balcony door, where he can breathe.

The air is bracing - less a product of the weather than the height. It's a cool enough night, but it's the wind buffeting his face that has him shivering. He's not dressed to be outside. Harvey waits til Mike's almost ready to retreat before he joins, penning his body against the railing from behind. 

He half-expects Harvey to continue their discussion from before - to give some pep talk about his first year as an associate, a hundred hours a week and playing through the pain. Instead, he rubs his face against Mike's shoulder and rubs his palm over Mike's dick.

Mike's practically half-naked - he only pulled on a t-shirt and boxers before they ate, and the ones he was wearing during practice, at that. He's filthy but Harvey just hums against his neck. Slips his fingers through Mike's fly and smiles at the reaction to his cold hands. 

He doesn't touch Mike like he's trying to turn him on, which is just as well. His balls are trying to crawl back in his body for the warmth, but Harvey's not deterred in the least. He wraps his icy fingers around Mike's shriveled sack and soft cock, squeezing and rubbing in an idle way that has Mike pressing back against his body, trying to get away. Cold as his hands are, Harvey's warm against his back, and doesn't seem to mind the cold. He's still half-dressed from work, no jacket, just his dress shirt, and it can't be cutting the wind but he doesn't seem to feel a thing.

He wraps his arm around Mike's waist and draws him in tight, trailing a cold finger over his taint. A light blinks on across the way - maybe 2 blocks from where they stand - and it hits Mike that people might be able to see them. His breath sticks.

Harvey turns to press his lips below Mike's ear, and says, "Did you jack yourself off in my bed, this afternoon?"

Mike's heartbeat picks up a bit, remembering what he thought about when he did. "If I say yes, what are you gonna do about it?"

"I haven't decided yet," Harvey says. Thoughtful. Then he draws away. "Come inside before someone finds their telephoto lens."

*

The feeling of exposure follows Mike inside, occupying him a little while Harvey begins tidying up the kitchen. If anything, they're more visible in the brightly-lit fishbowl of Harvey's condo than they would've been in the twilight outside. He wonders if Harvey ever fucks in the living room - if he worries about it. Mike can't really imagine it concerns him. 

He's not like Mike – well known in his field, but not a public face. But Mike - Mike, who is a public face, Mike, who's not _out_ , Mike, who's been in the press lately...maybe should be concerned. He wonders if it would cause him problems. Lose him sponsors. He wonders if it would ruin his career.

He closes the last five feet to Harvey and sinks to his knees.

Harvey pauses in his work but doesn't stop Mike from opening his fly.

He pulls Harvey's cock out - doesn't stroke it or lean in to take it in this mouth. Harvey stares down at him, and Mike looks back, waiting. There's something anxious crawling along the inner lining of his ribs. "Please."

Harvey's face doesn't soften. He rests his hip against the counter and threads his fingers into Mike's hair. "Okay."

Harvey's soft. Mike takes him in his mouth and suckles, shuffling closer and settling his hands on Harvey's hips. He works Harvey's dick until it's hard, then pulls away for a breath. 

"Feel better?" Harvey says, thumb tracing the line of Mike's chin. He doesn't sound mocking, but he doesn't sound kind either. His attention hasn't strayed from Mike's face the whole time. 

"Yes." He does. Not as good as he could feel, he's sure. He leans in and licks.

"What do you want me to do, Mike?"

"Fuck me." It's an easy answer - harder, though, to follow Harvey's thoughts. Right now, they're not on his face. 

"Do you deserve that?" Mike hesitates, unsure of the best way to win this game. "What were you thinking of, this afternoon? When you jerked off in my bed?"

So far, Mike decides, asking for what he wants has gotten results. "Making you angry. Making you hurt me."

Harvey doesn't move for a minute, just staring down at him, shifting his gaze from eye to eye, and then he's pulling Mike upward by the scalp. Mike scrambles to take his own weight, stumbling a bit as Harvey propels him forward a few feet and bends him over the kitchen island. Pins him there, one arm twisted up behind his back. 

"Here's my dilemma right now, Mike." A few tugs, and Mike's boxers fall to the floor. Harvey kicks his feet apart. "I _want_ to fuck you. I want to fuck you raw - in every possible sense of the word. My problem, though, is that I'm not clear: just how much of a dirty slut are you?"

"Fuck." It probably says unflattering things, the way those words hit him. Like a cluster bomb - gut, hindbrain, dick. All three, lit up with a sick pleasure. Harvey's thumb rubs over his asshole while he's shuddering in the wake.

"Naturally, I'd like to think I'm the only one you let jizz in your ass so cavalierly, but due diligence is important. So I have to ask - exactly how many men have come in this ass?"

Mike's body heats strangely, some mix of shame and lust he can't parse. "I'm usually careful."

"Usually."

"Always."

The blow that lands on Mike's ass is so sharp, he's sure it leaves a handprint. He loses his breath for a second.

"Always, for intercourse. Until this morning."

Harvey rubs his stricken ass cheek. "And this morning, you took a risk because...."

Mike falters, unsure. It wasn't a _decision_. He wasn't thinking.

When he doesn't respond, Harvey fills in: "You wanted me to hurt you?"

The implication lands heavy in his stomach. "No, that's - I didn't - "

Harvey leans on his arm a little, pushing discomfort over to pain. "Don't speak if you're just going to lie."

"Yes, okay, that's - maybe. But not on purpose."

Harvey eases up. "I believe you. But let me be clear: if you pull that shit with someone else, I'm gonna beat your ass so black and blue, you won't want anyone to fuck it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

Harvey steps away abruptly, and Mike's heart pounds, unsure what comes next. He can tell Harvey hasn't gone far, so he doesn't move, doesn't let his arm untwist from behind his back. He listens - Harvey shucking out of his clothes, a twist cap, the unmistakable sound of a wet hand stroking flesh - and when Harvey steps back up, it happens so fast. A hand on his shoulder, a dick at his ass, one unyielding thrust into flesh that hasn't been stretched.

Mike breathes, every exhale almost a moan, as Harvey wipes his hand clean on Mike's shirt and indulges himself in one short, sharp thrust. He guides Mike's arm out from its twist and brings the other back, gripping them tight and using the leverage to fuck Mike back on his cock, hard and deep. It feels so exactly right, Mike can't form the words.

"You are...such a sweet hole to fuck," Harvey sighs out, and the sound he forces from Mike's throat is undignified. "I think that's all you get to be tonight. My little hole."

"Yes." It explodes from his chest before he even thinks it, and Harvey lets go of Mike's arms abruptly, leaving him to fall against the counter. 

"Sshh," Harvey says, hands stroking up his back, under his shirt. The contact feels good. Harvey tangles the shirt up around his head, swathing the world in white cotton. "Holes don't speak."

A hand pins him to the counter by his nape, and Harvey fucks him - hard, fast, without mercy. Mike has no leverage, arms all bound up. All he can do is let Harvey use him, use him as a hole to fuck, and like the night before, his world narrows in a simple way. Harvey feels good, he's making Harvey feel good - Harvey says so. The need to come starts to pool between his legs but he needs direct stimulation. He starts to struggle a little bit in his cotton cocoon. 

"Harvey - "

It's no sooner said than the shirt clears his head, bringing fresh air and mobility that Harvey curtails quickly, catching Mike's wrists as he pushes up on his elbows. He pins Mike forward with his weight, the counter digs into Mike's belly but Harvey's plastered against him so thoroughly, Mike hardly cares. 

Harvey presses a kiss against his neck. "Do you want to come?"

Mike tries to jerk his hand free; Harvey holds fast. "Yes."

Harvey grinds his hips against Mike's ass. "Holes don't come, either."

That doesn't cool Mike off any. "Harvey - "

"You already got yours, Mike - all alone in my bed while I was at work. This is what I'm doing about it."

"That isn't - "

"Tough shit. You challenged me to punish you, Mike. This is what you get for that."

Mike breathes. "Okay."

Harvey gives his wrists an appreciative squeeze. "Good boy. You still want my come?"

"Yes."

Harvey's hot breath falls on Mike's ear as he starts to thrust, gentler now. "That's good, Mike. You're gonna get something nice for being a good boy."

There's a warm, achy pain in Mike's chest that feels perversely good. Every kiss Harvey lays on his neck warms it further - every kind word makes it ache. Harvey's astonishingly, painfully sweet to him, even when he gets rougher and his hips grow erratic and he comes.

He doesn't pull out right away. There's a sigh against Mike's back, a contented, satisfied thing. Then a press of lips. Something glows inside Mike's chest, even after Harvey straightens up and Mike's left empty, gaping. Still hard. Fingers slip through the come leaking out of his ass, and wrap around his dick, milking it with firm strokes and then letting go.

“Turn around.” Harvey's voice is quiet. He looks remarkably solemn for everything they've just done. When he reaches out to touch Mike's cheek, Mike leans into the touch; his eyes warm up a few degrees. “I just gave you something you wanted – what do you say?”

“Thank you, Harvey.”

“You're welcome. Shower, then bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently I have a thing for Harvey cooking steak for Mike. you'd think it came from that one steak dinner in canon but nope, it pre-dates that. wth, brain. (I'm sure that's what you were all focused on, haha)
> 
> if you have opinions or ideas on what you want from porn in this verse, speak now, haha. tone, positions, kinks, whatever. I'm trying to decide what next. this is probably retreading a lot of the same ground as Owned, but I think you probably don't care? lol.


End file.
